Incredible
by darkly
Summary: Set after Camera. Logan has lost his family money -- can he get by without Max's help? Not likely! This story borrows its tone and premise from the absolutely hilarious M/L saga "This Makes No Sense Whatsoever," by gilenagile. You can read TMNSW on ff.net


It was large, very large. Pink and large. Logan Cale squinted. Had it always been this large?  
  
Hey, there.  
  
Logan's head jerked sharply at the sound of Max's voice.  
  
Logan, what are you _doing_?  
  
I, ah...Max, how many times do I have to tell you that my attempts to cross-ventilate this apartment do not constitute an invitation for you to--  
  
Logan, you _asked_ me to come over. Or do you not remember that? Now, tell me--what's the matter with your hand?  
  
Nothing's the matter. Since you ask, my right hand still functions perfectly.  
  
Then why were you holding it out and staring at it? Max rests one hand on her hip. Or, what looks to be the area of her hip. Max's hip is awfully blurry today. Actually, all of Max is blurry, except her voice.  
  
Her voice is crystal clear.  
  
Logan sighs and turns his wheelchair a few degrees to face the blur standing in front of his window. Max, have you noticed anything different about me today?  
  
Yeah, you're wearing contacts. So what?  
  
So, I'm _not_ wearing contacts, that's what. And I can see for about two inches in front of my face before everything turns to fuzz.  
  
Well then, why don't you put on your glasses?  
  
Because, Max-- Logan pauses for emphasis. My glasses are _broken_. He will keep his composure, dammit. This little chat will go just fine. He's starting to remember, now...he must have paged Max in the morning, before the ill-fated grocery run with Bling. There's no reason they can't discuss the latest fallout from the blood bank scandal. Just because he can't _see _anything--  
  
Oh. How did you break them?  
  
Well, Max, I was...ah...assisting...a member. Of the informant net. And now my glasses are broken. So if you don't mind, could you please close that window for me?  
  
I thought you were trying to cross-ventilate.  
  
For God's sake. Does she really need to know that while he was helping Bling bring in the groceries, he leaned forward to snatch up a piece of trash from the garage floor _en passant_--force of habit since their recent acquaintance with Crazy Phil--but as he jerked down over his left knee, fingers outstretched, his glasses were propelled off his nose? Or that Bling dove for the glasses, trying to pluck them from the path of the wheelchair, and succeeded only in cutting his hand as the lenses were smashed by Logan's left wheel?  
  
I was, but I think the place is all aired out now. Thanks for asking. Logan folds his arms across his chest.  
  
He'd wanted to prove to Max that he could handle his new circumstances without her assistance. Unfortunately, the drops the cut-rate optometrist put in his eyes for the exam had taken him from nearsighted to nearly blind. Only after the vision check did the doc tell him there was a citywide shortage of lens glass. Apparently, it could be weeks before he'd be able to grind the lenses. Logan was only lucky that Bling, with his bandaged hand, had been there to drive him home. Of course Logan had insisted on giving him the rest of the day off.  
  
You're in a weird mood today, Max comments.  
  
Well, Max, not being able to see is just a little bit inconvenient. Leaning forward, Logan rests his chin in his hands. What's that fire-engine red blotch in the center of his vision? Could she be wearing the clingy red Lycra top again?  
  
Where's Bling? Why hasn't he found your spare pair of glasses for you?  
  
He's not around right now, and I don't have one. Logan is feeling distinctly put out. If she's wearing that shirt...  
  
Well, we'd better do something about that because if you get any pissier, I _might_ start getting annoyed.  
  
That was Max. Always supportive.  
  
Gee, thanks. Though I suppose with your genetically engineered vision, you wouldn't know much about where to pick up a cheap pair of glasses in this town. Logan can't bring himself to tell Max that he's got a bigger problem now. Those eyedrops are truly diabolical!  
  
As a matter of fact, I do. Now, follow me. Wait! Make that, Let me push you.' Max closes the window and moves forward, almost swirling into focus before disappearing over Logan's shoulder.  
  
I'll be fine, Max.  
  
Yeah, right. Max takes hold of Logan's chair and turns him toward the door.  
  
Today is going to go just fine. Logan Cale knows it. Now that he has a moment to think, being wheeled pleasantly along by the genetically engineered spatial skills and bump avoidance expertise of Manticore's best, he realizes that this outing will go very well indeed. Yes, Logan has an ace in the hole. For once, his mind will not be addled by physical perfection. Physical perfection has been reduced to a bright red blur.  
  
A few minutes later, Max and Logan arrive at a small, run-down storefront with various goods and fliers in the display window. Max wheels Logan through the door and up to the front counter.  
  
Hey, Break. Max greets the proprietor warmly.  
  
Long time no see, Break says, a smile breaking across his wide face. Have you come for some more milk? Or maybe a nice pair of pumps.  
  
Actually, my friend here needs some glasses.  
  
We do that. Break nods amicably. Right this way.  
  
One wall of the small back room is devoted to eyeglasses. An old-fashioned mirror in a white-painted wooden frame hangs between racks of glasses frames. Some of the frames contain lenses; others are empty. Break pulls the simple wooden chair aside as Max wheels Logan up to the narrow counter.  
  
All of these are pre-Pulse, Break explains. Mostly twentieth-century styles. The bell-like clatter of a heavy door chime calls him to the front of the shop. I'll be back in a minute.  
  
How come I didn't hear that when we came in? Logan asks, a bemused expression wrinkling his brow.  
  
Manticore silence. You could hang a cowbell around my neck and you still wouldn't hear me coming. Damn. How did she know he'd always wanted to do just that?  
  
We actually had cowbell drills at Manticore, you know. Logan isn't sure if that was a joke. Reflexively, he glances over his shoulder toward her voice... Of course, he can't get a hint from her expression; right now, he's hard-pressed to even locate her face.  
  
I mean it. Lydecker would hang one from each of your elbows with a short strap--you had to get through the obstacle course without the beater hitting the side.  
  
Logan frowns.  
  
You know. The part that hits the side. Whatever. Anyway, I was good at it, and Eva, too. She loved that drill--she had the best agility of our whole unit. She was like a virtuoso, out there in the field behind the barn. You had to move a certain way to keep the bells from swinging too much as you ran--it was kind of a full-on omnidirectional shimmy. Jack was the worst. He used to start clanging uncontrollably before he even made it past the water obstacle. And Lydecker had this herd of cows he'd specially selected for their ears. Jack would clang and clang and they'd all be mooing themselves into a frenzy, frothing at the mouth and making this awful low _bleat_...it was indescribable. I can't forget that _sound_! Even in his state, Logan is certain he detects Max shuddering. Jondy always had such exquisitely sensitive hearing...all I had to do was say moo' and she'd cringe in agony. It's a wonder she made it out of there with her sanity intact. Trusting she did.  
  
It doesn't sound like you were exactly helping, Logan observes.  
  
C'mon, a girl's gotta have one surefire way to start a pillow fight.  
  
Hmmm...pillow fight. Logan may not be able to see much, but his imagination is 20/20. To distract himself from the image--in which Max, despite everything he knows about her childhood, wears a frilly white eyelet nightgown as fine hair swirls about her shoulders--he asks her, So, would you care to help me pick out some frames?  
  
Here, you might like these. Max hands Logan an angular pair with a vintage look. Adjusting them on the bridge of his nose, he leans forward to get a look at his reflection.  
  
The tip of Logan's nose collides painfully with the glassy surface of the mirror.  
  
Are you okay?  
  
Logan mumbles. Mom always used to say he had a beautiful nose.  
  
Men! Fine, then, do it yourself. Max turns and--  
  
  
  
Suddenly, there's no red blur in Logan's peripheral vision. Twisting, he scans the room. There are smudges everywhere he looks; some moving slightly, most stationary, more than one red, none particularly...Max-like. Logan groans. Fine, then. He will do it himself. Hmmm. From a safe distance of three or four inches, Logan peers at the bank of glasses frames to his left. Why do so many of these styles have practically no rim? Finally, he selects a bold, black-rimmed pair. Yes, he'll look fine in these. Better than fine: intellectual, yet suave. In a low-key, unprepossessing way, of course.  
  
The next thing Logan hears is helpless laughter.  
  
Oh God...Logan... The fact that she's trying so hard not to laugh only makes it worse. What's wrong? _How long has she been standing there?_ Damn genetically engineered silence!  
  
You're really blind as a bat, aren't you?  
  
Logan sighs. He can't bring himself to tell her about the eyedrop fiasco. What's wrong?  
  
Those things are practically aviator's goggles. They'd be great if you were planning to get your photo taken in the cockpit of a pre-Pulse plane.  
  
Logan reaches out to put the frames back--they're burning a hole in his palm--but he can't see the gap in the rack where he took them from. Slowly he reaches out, squinting...  
  
Max takes the clunky goggle-glasses from his hand and gives him a new pair of frames. These are almost exactly like your old ones. Do they fit?  
  
They're fine. Logan doesn't ask why they have no rims. It seems his ability to judge the thickness of objects is hopelessly compromised.  
  
How are you doing? Break pops in from the front of the shop. I just sold a pair of pre-Pulse Scooby Doo underwear. That's a first.  
  
Really? Scooby Doo? Logan doesn't need to see her face to sense the way Max is looking at him. He clears his throat. How could she be expected to understand that before the Pulse, the children of the upper class were practically raised by TV cartoons? At least the wealthy could afford to give their offspring the very best in modern child rearing: 80-inch widescreen. And unlimited orthodontics. Don't forget the orthodontics!  
  
Could we get some lenses for this pair? Max asks. Logan, what's your prescription?  
  
Logan hands the paper in his right inside jacket pocket in the direction of Break's voice.  
  
To do: Call contact at blood bank. Remember to wine and dine Max before exploring her willingness to-- Break breaks off.  
  
Wait! Other pocket. A slight flush traces his cheekbones as Logan reaches into his left jacket pocket and exchanges the glasses prescription for his to do' list from this morning.  
  
Break pulls open a drawer and rummages through plastic bags carefully marked with descriptions of the lenses inside. Finally, he finds a match.  
  
You're in luck. I won't even have to grind the sides down, Break reports, popping a pair of oval lenses into Logan's new frames and returning his eye exam results.  
  
Max asks as Logan slips the glasses on.  
  
Logan beams a smile at her. He won't tell her about the eyedrops...no, that would be too humiliating. Confidently, he wheels the chair around and heads for the--  
  
Crash!  
  
Logan, are you okay?  
  
I guess my eyes need a few minutes to...adjust. The way the glasses are interacting with the effect of the drops, he can see even _less_ now. Logan squints. At least he can't feel anything in the knees he seems to have smashed. The doorway can't have moved...can it?  
  
It's closed. Here, let me get it for you. Max's voice betrays her concern.  
  
I've got it. Logan grins cheerfully. It's not bluffing, he thinks. Not really. More like doling out the truth on a need-to-know basis. Hmmm...that's a good concept. He'll have to remember that.  
  
Here, let me push you until you get used to your prescription again. Max reaches for the chair and smoothly wheels Logan through the now-open door to the cash register, where he pays for his purchase. He knows exactly what bills he has in his wallet, thank goodness. He even has them sorted by denomination. Unlike just a few short weeks ago, Logan is acutely aware of exactly how much cash he has on hand. He even asked Bling to count the coins when they left the eyedrop-wielding fiend..._doctor_...this morning.  
  
Logan thanks Break graciously for the glasses, flashing his best smile somewhere...up...a little higher, perhaps?...above where he heard the clack of the old-fashioned register drawer springing open.  
  
No problem. Break smiles, stepping a little to the right to line himself up with Logan's upturned gaze. Give me a call if you need to exchange those lenses.  
  
They're fine. Logan smiles, projecting confidence.  
  
Thanks, Break, Max says, turning Logan's chair before he can attempt anything. Take care. I'll stop by sometime, she calls over her shoulder, yanking the front door open before Logan can propel himself into it.  
  
Back at Fogle Towers, Max scoots him expertly out of the elevator at the penthouse level. In the hall Logan notices that, miracle of miracles, his vision is clearing. He can distinctly make out his front door. Yes, the eyedrops--whatever was in them (Logan winces)--are finally wearing off, and rapidly at that. Not a moment too soon. Logan lets himself into the apartment, shrugging off Max's attempts to help.  
  
Once again, the all-penetrating Eyes Only is in command! Logan can't wait to get back to his computer hacks, and he can't wipe the grin off his face.  
  
What are _you_ smiling about? Max asks teasingly, leaning against his computer desk.  
  
Wow. Logan Cale is caught off guard. Look at her mischievous smile...her flashing eyes...that clingy red top...no, no! Don't look at the top! And _don't_ look at the tilt of her hips... Logan feels weak-kneed; good thing he isn't standing up.  
  
Oh, nothing. So, about the blood bank situation. Yes, he's in his element now!  
  
I thought you were going to wine and dine me before we talked about that.  
  
Logan looks momentarily nonplussed. Max's dazzling smile flashes across her face again, illuminating the planes and curves of physical perfection. His breath catches in his throat. Logan can barely believe he's gone all day without a glimpse of Max's beautiful, expressive eyes and lovely, teasing lips. Incredible.  
  
Yes...yes, I am. I'm going to cook you a dinner that will be-- Logan gazes into the dark, exquisite eyes. 


End file.
